And opened up a massive tornado behind him.
It tore into existence like a great beast, clawing at the sky. It screamed across the horizon, engulfing half the world. It was so powerful that I could feel it, even from here, churning up the metaphysical currents like a hurricane, sending waves of power shuddering through me, over me, around me. Like nothing I’d ever felt before.
“What . . . what . . . is that?” the tiny witch demanded, her eyes huge.
“Return to sender,” I yelled, remembering the storms Gertie had conjured up against me. “They’re trying to send him home!”
And they were trying hard.
Power lashed at him from the portals in the sky. An epic storm pulled at him from behind. Ares roared again, a shudder-inducing sound, and one that was more than that. It was pained.
They’re hurting him, I thought, a tiny flame of hope igniting inside me.
They’re hurting him!
And then the field flooded with fey.
The Svarestri reinforcements I had sent away were back, charging and yelling, like a furious wall descending on us. For a moment, I didn’t understand—what did it matter anymore? What did anything here on the ground matter?
But then I realized: they thought the witches were doing this. They thought they had conjured up the battle in the skies that was hurting their god. And they had decided to do something about it.
The little witch looked at me and I looked at her, but neither of us moved. We were ridiculously outnumbered, with most of the covens having fled the field, and those who remained already busy with battles of their own. We were out of power and out of time, and about to be slaughtered.
And then someone yelled on our other side, from the direction of town. A lot of someones. And before I could turn my head to see who, they were everywhere, surging all around us—another wall of fey. Only these . . .
Were in blue.
And green, I realized, as a passing Alorestri flung a puddle of water on a charging fey, enveloping him in a skin he couldn’t shake, despite tearing at it with both hands. A watery skin that covered his body, his head, and finally his face. And drowned him on dry land.
A second later, a mass of men and horses thundered by our little cart on both sides, shaking the ground and almost running us down. And I looked up to see Arthur leading a charge that pushed like a spear into the middle of the Svarestri forces, tearing them in two. And cleaving a clear path behind them.
“There!” I yelled at the witch. “We have to get to the river!”
She nodded and threw me one end of the rope, and snatched up the other. We took off as fast as we could, which wasn’t that fast. But not because of the weight of the cart, which the charm made almost negligible, or the straggling horses we had to dodge, or the fighting going on everywhere.
But because the ripples the arena had been putting out had just turned into all-out waves.
Earth fey, I thought grimly, as horses whinnied and fell, as Arthur’s charge broke, as the nearest section of the burning town shuddered and shook and collapsed into a sea of rubble. And as we plowed determinedly ahead, despite the sledge being so low that it hit the back of our legs with every stride. Until a piece of earth like a tidal wave came speeding toward us and tilted it over, throwing us to the ground and scattering the wounded everywhere.
That wave was followed by another and then still more, the smaller ones from behind suddenly nothing compared to the ones from in front. And a glance showed that it wasn’t targeting us. It was happening everywhere, in a huge circle around the battlefield. The Svarestri were encircling us, not with more soldiers but with their element, refusing to allow us to escape.
Because they didn’t know who was behind this, so they planned to just kill everyone they could find.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” the little witch said as I turned back around. And noticed that the broom was no longer attached to the sledge.
Because she and the witches who could still move were climbing on board.
“No!” I said, trying to reach her past the rolling waves of earth. “No, take us, too! Take us with you!”
“Too heavy. I’m sorry!”
“No, please—”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” And then they were gone, flying up into the air as I clutched Pritkin and watched our last lifeline spiral away—
And be hit by two Svarestri spears, one from either side, and be blown out of the sky.
Suddenly, everything got louder, or maybe it was just my heartbeat speeding up, pumping blood to my ears as I watched the burning bodies rain down. Or watched part of it, because I couldn’t even make out where they’d landed. The battle raging above was easy enough to see, but lower down smoke and steam and spell-fire were everywhere, confusing my eyes; screams and crashes were doing the same to my ears; and waves of earth were destroying my sense of direction, throwing me off my feet and freaking me out every time I tried to stand.
So I crawled instead, using the rope to grab the last piece of charmed wood, which was now floating fairly high with nothing on it. Until I pulled it down and strapped Pritkin to it and started dragging him along with me. Because the witch was dead, so this spell was going to unravel pretty damn fast and I couldn’t renew it.
I couldn’t do much, including crawl effectively, although that was partly because of the dirt constantly hitting me in the face. I finally gave up and climbed on board with Pritkin, draping myself protectively over him. And pushing us along with my feet, ridiculous though that was, because it was all I could do.
And to my surprise, it worked.
Like really worked, like body-surfing on dry land, which was so insane I decided not to think about it, and just go with it. And suddenly, we were moving, coasting across the ground under the protective haze, pushing off from each crest and zooming down and then up the next, like a crazy toboggan. We’re getting away, I thought, an insane grin spreading across my cheeks. We’re getting away!
And then a barrage of fey energy spears flew past, barely missing us. And took out a group of witches running just ahead. Who were hit so hard and so fast that they were dead before they plowed into the ground.
I stared at them, my mouth dry, my heartbeat hard enough to actually hurt. And that was before one of the dead decided to abruptly roll over and sit up, a large chunk of her torso gone, her hair on fire. And her slack features becoming animated once more as a spirit in search of a body suddenly acquired one.
And this time, it didn’t fight back.
You have got to be kidding me, I thought, as the dead eyes met mine.
And then Jo was coming.
But this wasn’t my first time at the rodeo. Which was why one of the corpses behind her caught her ankle, tripping her up just before she could reach me, leaving her splayed on the ground. And slamming her filthy, shoeless heel into my borrowed face as I hung on, trying to keep her away from the two bodies now slumped over the gently revolving sledge.
Jo turned around, snarling, and I snarled back out of a half-missing mouth. A fey who had been bearing down on us both turned a whiter shade of pale and backed away, only to get taken out by a witch’s curse. But not before dropping his spear, which didn’t go out. It lay there, eating its shape into the dirt, while Jo and I stared at it.
I didn’t know what she was thinking, but I had always assumed that those things were a spell given form, since the fey just materialized them when needed. And maybe they were, but they must have run on different rules from human magic. Because this one spluttered and hissed but continued to burn, despite the very obvious death of its caster.
And then we both went for it.
We grabbed it at the same time, adding more cooked-meat smell to the smoke and blood and ozone-laced tinge of expended magic already in the air. I had the pointy end, but it didn’t matter, even when she shoved it through my already
damaged middle. In fact, it made this easier, my new rib cage working to help trap it as we scrambled to our feet and started doing a strange sort of waltz through the battle, using the spear to throw each other around as rain pattered down and people stared and Jo finally realized why I was willing to dance with her.
And then her face burst into flames.
The blaze in her hair had become a conflagration, like the one the blunt end of the energy weapon had created in her chest. She was literally cooking in front of my eyes, and that was before her body went up like a Roman candle when the fat ignited. I staggered back, shocked despite my alarming new threshold, and grabbed a fey for balance. Who screamed and tried to get away, but my hands had fused to his shirt. And I belatedly realized: I was melting in the middle of my own personal inferno.
The fey screamed again, a strange, high-pitched note of pure terror, and pulled out a knife. A moment later, my spirit was slamming back into my own body as my borrowed one all but exploded against the ground—except for the severed arms. They were still clutching the sleeves of the now terrified fey.
He tore off through a cloud of smoke and I looked around, trying to spot the next threat, but there didn’t seem to be one. I didn’t wait for one to show up. I grabbed the sledge and took off, pushing Pritkin toward the relative safety of the river.
It was quieter here, most of the fleeing people having gone to the docks. I could see them in the distance, a huge, squirming mass illuminated here and there by flickering torchlight. I didn’t follow them. There weren’t going to be enough boats, and anyway, I had no way to get there. The sledge was already starting to drag the ground; in a minute, I wouldn’t be able to move it at all.
So I headed for the little tent belonging to the launderer. It was somehow still standing, maybe because it was sheltered by a couple of spreading oaks. The dirt road in front had turned into a river, rushing like a torrent. But the tent was on higher ground and still dry inside when I pulled open the back flap. And shoved the sledge inside.
I looked around, panting slightly. The young couple must have had to leave in a hurry, because their freshly dried wares were still in place. Including a pile of them on a woven mat just inside the back that looked incredibly comfortable.
For a second, I just stood there, feeling bad about messing them up. It had started to rain harder on the way here, and we were both soaked. And then I wondered what the hell was wrong with me, worrying about laundry in the apocalypse.
I tipped Pritkin off the board and into the middle of the pile, and sat beside him, because there was nothing else to do. Except wonder if that last battle had finally drained Jo, or if she’d be back. And why she cared.
If it had been anyone else, I’d have understood the attack as a personal vendetta. But Jo had been planning death-by-god anyway, allowing Ares’ return to wipe her out of existence along with the rest of us. So, at best, I’d pushed up her timetable a little, which hardly seemed worth this kind of risk.
And if she was still afraid I’d manage to interrupt her plans . . . how? I was exhausted, out of power, and dragging around a guy with a possible concussion. As far as fighting went, I was done. And possession drained ghosts faster than anything else. She was risking missing the big finale, and for what? Killing someone likely to die anyway? It didn’t make sense.
Especially considering what was happening in the skies above us.
Because Ares was winning.
I pushed the tent flap out of the way and stared as a torso the size of a skyscraper shoved its way into the world. The sonic boom of ripping space and time came again, but it seemed distant this time, dull. Like the rain blowing in to wet my feet, like the burning sensation in my throat, like everything. Grayed out, unimportant. Lost in shock and pain and grief so great it didn’t matter anymore.
And then came a light so bright that for a moment it seemed like day. And an explosion so huge it rocked the ground underneath me, and rained dirt and debris and a small piece of bright red wool down in front of me. Rosier’s color.
I watched the burning piece of cloth be doused by the rain, and felt my face crumple.
I guessed I could feel something after all.
Like the arms, coming around me from behind. Not an attack this time, but an attempt at comfort. From someone who deserved it more than me.
“It didn’t work,” I said unsteadily, before he could ask. “The device was destroyed, but Ares . . . he’s too far in.”
He was having to struggle for it, to fight. But he didn’t just have his foot in the door now, but half his body. Rosier’s sacrifice had been brave, and ultimately successful. But it didn’t matter.
You can’t close a door if someone’s standing in the middle of it.
“Your name,” Pritkin said suddenly, his voice hoarse.
“What?”
“Your name.”
I huffed out something that sounded strangely like a laugh. And maybe it was. What else was there to do at the end of the world? “Does it matter now?”
His arms tightened, and when his voice came again, it was desperate. “Your name . . .”
I twisted, trying to look at him, but his arms held me fast. “If it really means that much to—”
“. . . is Cassie.”
I just sat there for a second, unmoving. And then I did turn, having to fight his hold. And when I did—
His eyes were emerald. Not green, not jade, but pure emerald, shining in the darkness like a light was behind them. Because one was.
Soul light.
I felt like crying and laughing all at once. He was finally here, the person I’d chased through centuries of time. Only to arrive too late.
“Tell me! That is your name?”
Pritkin looked like my answer was important. Like it was the most important thing in the world. Like it was something he’d clung to, through whatever personal storm he’d been living all this time.
I got up on my knees and took his head between my hands. “My name is Cassie Palmer,” I told him steadily. “And I love you.”
Chapter Sixty
I kissed him, and he tasted the same as before: like ash and smoke and spent magic. Like I probably did, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything but the warmth of his mouth and the strength of his arms, and having someone with me at the end. And not just someone. The person I wanted more than anyone else, that I’d searched for, loved for, God, so long.
As I’d have admitted a long time ago, only I was really good at ignoring the impossible.
But it wasn’t impossible now. Nothing was. And I guessed he thought so, too, because the next moment he was pushing me back into the mountain of clean laundry and pulling my dress over my head.
Outside, things were deteriorating rapidly. The sounds of battle came in gusts, blown on an increasingly violent wind. Burning sparks cascaded past the tent, adding the scent of fire to the smell of linen and mud and ozone. The sky was burning, with boiling mountains of clouds streaked with the light of that terrible wound.
I barely noticed.
The unnatural light haloed Pritkin’s head as he finished stripping off his tunic, reflected in his eyes, made him look more like his father’s side for a second. And then more like his mother’s, when sparks like fireflies danced in his hair. But when he bent over me, he was once again the man I knew, finding my lips, pulling me into an embrace that blocked out everything else.
And then fire took us.
But not with devastation and fury, as I’d half expected. Not with the wrath of an angry god. But with something else, something that had been waiting a very long time. Something that was rushing at us like a massive wave toward a beach. And this time, there was no one to stop it.
It broke over us a moment later, in a storm of mouths and hands and hearts beating together. It swept away clothes, quieted inhibitions, masked pain. Pritkin’s hand s
moothed carefully over my side, because a ragged bandage hid an injury that was nowhere near healed, but I didn’t feel it.
I didn’t feel anything but hunger.
And power. I could sense it puddling on my skin wherever his hands rested. Could track the prints of fingers and lips as they explored me. Could feel it scintillating off that terrible hair as it swept across my body, brushing breasts and stomach and thighs as he kissed his way down. Could feel it flood inside me when he found my center, when his lips closed over me, when he—
God!
I arched up, and it felt like time slowed. The floating embers in the air became a stream of rubies. The drag of Pritkin’s stubble over my thighs was like the scrape of velvet. The sheen of water on his bare skin a shining coat, like the armor I’d seen on the fey, like the cascade of watery diamonds tumbling in through the tent flap as the wind shifted.
I felt every one. I felt everything, arching under the heavy droplets hitting my breasts, and then under Pritkin’s lips as he chased them down, as his fingers replaced his tongue elsewhere, as I felt the tent rock, like from another earthquake, except nothing was moving but me. I tried to stay grounded, to think, before sensation tore me off this earth and sent me spinning into madness. But it was impossible. The tide had me now, and I was helpless to do anything except squirm and shudder and make soft little sounds at the back of my throat that I couldn’t seem to stop or control.
Pritkin groaned, and that sound in that voice had my back arching until I thought it would break, my fingers tightening into fists in his hair, needing something, anything to ground me. But nothing helped. It was too much sensation, far too much, and I couldn’t even think clearly enough to ask what was happening.
And then I didn’t need to. Because something looked up at me, but it wasn’t Pritkin. At least, not in the form I knew. An incubus stared at me out of his eyes, thin and starved and desperate. He didn’t say anything, but I could feel his emotions battering me. He hungered, he hurt, but if he fed, he hurt others. So he had starved, for so long, so long . . .